Mr Scruffles
by IWishIWasAMermaid
Summary: Lilly's toy dog can read Oliver's mind. OneShot.


**Mr. Scruffles**

**Lilly's toy dog can read people's minds...**

"Hey..." Oliver knocked on my bedroom door, and then put his head round it cautiously. As if I was liable to bite his head off if he got any closer. I didn't turn my head, and so he approached carefully. "You okay?"

I still didn't look at him. Just clutched Mr. Scruffles tighter.

Mr. Scruffles was one of my favourite birthday presents ever, from one of my most favourite people ever. Oliver gave me it for my sixth birthday. He was always with me for years. Until I was ten. And then I kept him confined to my bedroom. Because the only people that ever come up here are my mom, dad, Oliver and Miley. And Miley can't laugh at the fact that I have an old stuffed animal in my room, on account of her teddy bear. Beary the Bear. At least I named my toy with a slightly more imaginative name.

Oliver sighed, and sat on the end of my bed. I looked up slightly, watching him. Anticipating his next move. If he was going to be his typical self, he'd probably start his next sentence with 'if it's any consolation'. If he was going to attempt to be sympathetic, he'd probably use the word 'me'. And if he's trying to be sympathetic and typical, it'll be a mix of both.

"Lilly, if it's any consolation, you'll still have me," Oliver said.

See. He's so predictable sometimes. I've been able to predict what Oliver's going to do next for years. It's what you get when you know someone incredibly well. Miley says that we know each other too well...

Miley says.

Miley's why I'm sitting here. She's moving to New York. New York. As if it's better in New York than it is here. It isn't, okay? It's colder. And more crowded. And it doesn't have me! How could anyone want to movie to New York, when they can live in Malibu?

"Lilly? Are you going to say anything?" Oliver asked me, looking at me. I forced myself not to lift my head. If I made eye contact, I was going to break my silence and say something amazingly selfish. And I was trying to prevent myself from doing that.

Oliver looked around the room, and then back at me. "Hey! Is that Mr. Scruffles? You still have him?"

He sounds amazed. Like I would be weird if I kept a stuffed dog that was given to me ten years ago by my favourite person in the whole world. Besides Adam Brody. And Miley.

Why is he surprised? Mr. Scruffles was a key figure in our childhood. If a dog can be a figure. Maybe he wasn't a key figure. He was a key stuffed animal. But it didn't matter. He was important to us. And even though technically Oliver gave him to me, we shared him. If one of us was feeling sad, then we'd get Mr. Scruffles. That was the arrangement.

In fact, when one of us was feeling really upset and we didn't want to talk, we'd make Mr. Scruffles talk for us. I mean, obviously it was still us talking. But it was a barrier. We could tell each other things that hurt us, or things that might hurt the other, because we accepted that whatever we made Mr. Scruffles say was confidential. For example, when my grandma died, I hadn't spoken to anyone for days. I missed her. I wanted to know why she'd gone, and why she wasn't coming back. When Oliver showed up, I spoke to him. Through Mr. Scruffles. And Oliver made me feel better.

We never thought it was weird. I guess we still don't. Because it made sense. It worked. It didn't feel stupid, because the person behind the dog was still our best friend.

"How could I get rid of him?" I whispered, not lifting my eyes. I focussed on Mr. Scruffles, and his one eye. And his scruffy fur, and his half-of-a tail.

"You remember how we used to make him talk for us?" Oliver asked, noticing that he'd hit on something.

I don't know why I talked when he mentioned Mr. Scruffles. I guess we were reliving some of that childhood stuff we did. Which is why I smiled weakly, and lifted Mr. Scruffles to my mouth. Then I turned him round, so that his face was facing in Oliver's direction. "You never made me talk. I can read your minds."

Oliver laughed. "Oh really? Well then, what am I thinking now?"

"You're thinking about food," I said, making Mr. Scruffles' head bob up and down, as I spoke in a squeaky voice.

Oliver's face dropped. "You know me too well."

Y'see? I know Oliver incredibly well, and so I can even (sort of) read his mind now.

"Well, Mr. Scruffles. If you can read our minds, would you mind giving me an insight into Lilly's mind? Because I want to understand how she's feeling. I want to help her. But she doesn't want to talk."

I sighed, my thoughts drifting back to Miley, and how she's moving to the other side of the country.

"I know that she's upset about Miley leaving. I'm sort of sad too. But I want to know if there's anything I can do, just to make her feel better," Oliver said, looking into my eyes, instead of at the dog.

"Look at me when you're talking to me!" I squeaked, waving Mr. Scruffles' arm in the air. "Oliver, I think Lilly is confused, and upset about Miley leaving. She wants to know why she wants to leave here."

Oliver humoured me, and looked at the dog when he replied. "She doesn't want to leave here. She feels that she needs to go to New York to get a new experience. But in getting that experience, it means that she has to leave her old life behind. It isn't that she doesn't like it here anymore, it's that she wants to give something else a try."

I sighed, and put the dog down, clasping him to me again. "Since when did you get so wise, Oken?"

"Since Miley told me that stuff. After you ran off. She's upset too, Lilly," Oliver said, sympathy reflected in his eyes.

I nodded. "I know. But I guess... she doesn't have to leave, Oliver. She could stay, but she's choosing not to."

Oliver was silent for a minute. Then he leaned forward, and gently prised Mr. Scruffles from my grasp. Then, mimicking my actions, he lifted the dog and put on a high squeaky voice. "Lilly, Oliver thinks that you need to let Miley go. He says that he knows you'll miss her, but that he also knows that you'll get through it. Because you're strong, and amazing, and you have him."

I snorted, but smiled at him. "Well, Mr. Scruffles... I guess you're right. And you can tell Oliver that I'll try. But that I won't be happy about it."

Oliver lifted Mr. Scruffles up to his ear, and acted like the dog was whispering in his ear. "Uh-huh. Okay. Yes." Then he put his mouth to the furry ear, and whispered something in it. Turning Mr. Scruffles back to face me, he smiled. "Oliver says that he knew you'd say that. And that he wouldn't want it any other way."

"Well he wouldn't get it any other way, anyway," I said, sticking my tongue out at him.

Oliver grinned. "Lilly, Mr. Scruffles says you're so stubborn."

"Oh really?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Yeah. And he says that's why he loves you," Oliver said, handing Mr Scruffles back to me.

I took my dog, and hugged him. "At least he won't leave me to go to New York. Which makes one person."

"Lilly... you know that I'd never leave you to go to New York," Oliver muttered.

I looked up at him, and smiled. "What, does that mean you love me too?"

Oliver didn't answer. He just looked at me. But a look neither confirms nor denies anything.

"Oliver?" I asked, again, this time seriously. "Does that mean you love me too?"

He got up, and walked over to the door. "I have to go... almost curfew. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"No! No you won't!" I cried, and followed him out of my room, subconsciously taking Mr. Scruffles with me. "Oliver, you have to answer my question. Do you love me?"

Oliver kept walking, his head down. He reached the front door, and pulled it open.

"Oliver! Oliver, please stop," I called, following him down the driveway. The sun was just setting, and the whole street was bathed in pink light. "Oliver..." I caught up to him, and took hold of his arm.

Unable to ignore me now that I was connected to him, he turned to look at me. I didn't remove my hand from around his wrist. My fingers didn't meet; his wrists seemed so big. But still he stayed there. He could have totally released his arm from my grasp, but was, for some reason, choosing not to. Obviously I was grateful.

"Oliver, please answer me. Back there, you said that Mr. Scruffles loved me, and so wouldn't leave me. Then you said that you wouldn't leave me. Does that mean you love me too?"

"Of course not, Lilly," Oliver said, but I wasn't sure he was being truthful. Usually I can tell when he's lying... but this is different. Because I'm not sure I want to know if he's lying. "Mr. Scruffles is a stuffed animal. He doesn't really love you... because he can't. And you can't really compare human feelings to the apparent feelings of a stuffed animal."

Disappointment flooded over me. Did I want Oliver to love me? Or was I just looking for reassurance that somebody did?

"Oh." It sounded pathetic, but it was all I could manage to say. The only sound that I could muster. Oh. I let go of Oliver's wrist, suddenly not sure I wanted to hold it.

Oliver dug his hands in his pockets, and fixed his gaze on the cracks in the paving slabs on the street. "Well... I'd better be off... see you tomorrow..."

I watched silently as he turned around, and began to walk slowly up the street. Then I noticed that I was holding my stuffed animal in my arms. I looked down into Mr. Scruffles' eye, and saw a distorted and very small reflection of myself.

Why did I suddenly feel small and hurt? Why was I feeling dejected and even more sad than I had been before Oliver had stopped by?

"Oliver!" I heard myself calling, and I watched as he turned around. I know it sounds so cliché, but it seriously looked slower than usual. As if someone had pressed the Slow Motion button on a remote control, and suddenly everything was moving as if there was a huge wind.

I walked up to him slowly, still unsure of what I was about to do. It seemed as though my brain was acting on impulse alone, and that all rational thought had gone out of the window.

"Uh-huh?" he asked, looking just as upset as I had felt before my emotions had shut down. Before my brain had switched itself onto auto-pilot without consulting me.

"It's a shame that you don't love me," I said, and then leaned in, stood on tip-toe and slightly touched my lips to his. "Because I'm pretty sure that I love you."

Then I pulled away, and looked at him. "So I'll ask one more time. Oliver, do you love me?"

Oliver looked down at Mr. Scruffles, who was squashed between the both of us. He pulled him free, and turned him to face me, bobbing his head up and down. "Oliver says always has."

**First Hannah Montana one-shot! I really like it, but you might have other ideas. And, if you read carefully, Mr. Scruffles may make cameo appearances in my other Hannah Montana fics. I'm not gonna tell you where he is, you'll just have to spot him. Virtual cookies to those who find them. **


End file.
